


the color of disire

by orphan_account



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: F/M, Grell is transgender, M/M, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-21
Updated: 2012-10-21
Packaged: 2017-11-16 18:32:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/542555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>William doesn’t know what to do with this; he’s really much better at making enemies than friends.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the color of disire

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: May trigger of transgender issues. There's nothing too horrible, but I figure, better safe than sorry.
> 
> On that dour note, may I just point out how adorable flustered!Will is? Answer: very, very adorable.

When they first meet, William takes a glance at Grell and immediately sorts him into his base elements—gay, psychotic, vain.  About to suffer a gender identity crisis. 

Dull.

William writes him off as one more idiot standing in the way of his career.

They go to their final exam together, contrary to William’s personal preferences, and he commits himself fully to the task at hand despite Grell’s irritating notion that they are now _together._   William grits his teeth and tries not to murder his test partner, though it’s a close call when Grell retrieves his glasses for him—William does not like feeling indebted to anyone, and he especially dislikes the chink in his armor being discovered so quickly.  The glasses are every Reaper’s weak spot, but William still resents having one in the first place.

They work _well_ together.  William can be objective enough to notice this—he mellows Grell’s raw passion for blood and Grell makes him take the necessary risks that turn his stomach.  They are polar opposites in the best sense of the term—between the two of them, they stretch out to fill every space.  They are unstoppable.

They are also assigned to the same wing of the Collectors’ office.  William draws blood when he bites his tongue to keep from muttering expletives.

Grell, on the other hand, is thrilled at the prospect of having an office romance and attaches himself to William’s arm, despite William’s scowl and stiff limbs.

“C’mon, Willy darling, give me a smile, won’t you, dear?”  Grell simpers, leaning over the desk where Will is attempting to work.

“I’m busy, Sutcliff.  Go bother someone else.”

Grell can’t take no for an answer and pinches William’s cheek with one red-gloved hand.

“Aww, don’t be like that, Willy.  Smile for your boyfriend—”

William slaps Grell’s hand away, eyes flashing behind the glasses that make him look so much older than he actually is.

“You are _not_ my boyfriend,” he growls and shoves Grell away from his desk with one hand.

Grell just smirks and blows him a kiss, singsonging “Yet!” while skipping out the door.

* * *

William will never understand how Grell got promoted before he did.  Never.  It’s impossible for it to have happened, but there the two of them are, reading the letter in Grell’s trembling hand.

“Congratulations,” Will says stiffly and pats Grell awkwardly on the shoulder.  His heart grows heavy with envy—Grell’s been offered a place on a new wing of Shinigami, a radical notion, to be sure, but one that William would give his eye teeth to be a part of.

“I’m not taking it,” Grell says, stubbornly.

William’s eyes widen despite himself.  “Why ever not?”

“Because then I’d be away from you,” Grell explains as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, and William tries his hardest not to be flattered—and fails.

* * *

William never meant for them to become friends.

Honestly, Sutcliff is far more trouble than he’s worth, always flirting and dancing about and making a flamboyant fool of himself.  He disgusts William in a way that few other people can.

But irony connived against him so William finds himself next to Grell, sipping over-steeped tea on someone’s front porch after a brutal reaping almost in what one might call amiable silence.  William doesn’t know what to do with this; he’s really much better at making enemies than friends, and why the hell isn’t Grell talking to fill up the silence?

“You… did.  Well.  Today,” William mutters, just because he can’t stand the look of exhausted quiet on Grell’s usually energetic face.

“I’m sorry, were you giving me a complement?” Grell asks, perking up.  “Ooh, alert the press!  Phone the Prime Minister!  William T. Spears is not a block of ice after all!”  He bats his eyelashes at William, perfectly recovered, and William submits gratefully to the banter once again.

He hates to acknowledge that even the flirting is better than Grell’s ear-crushing silence.

* * *

It’s awkward, on New Year’s, when they kiss.

Grell is wearing a ridiculous hat, and William thinks said ridiculous hat has to go, so he steps close enough to remove it from his sight—but then the last bell of midnight tolls, and Grell murmurs that neither of them seem to have anyone to kiss, and wouldn’t it be rude to leave a lady without a kissing partner on New Year’s Eve?

“Lady…?” William asks, confused, but Grell just shakes his head and tips his chin up enough so that their lips are almost touching.

“Can I…?” He asks, eyes excited behind his stupid glasses.

William nods, throat gone dry.  Grell places his hands on William’s shoulders and hesitates, his pink tongue swiping at his lower lip nervously.

“Go on,” William whispers, and Grell presses their lips together, slowly, tentatively, far too cautious.

William can’t stand it when Grell gets all restrained so he locks one hand behind Grell’s neck and puts his tongue in his mouth and Grell’s gasp of surprise is ridiculously sexy, no one should sound like that, and even though Grell’s teeth are a little sharp William has to admit that it’s maybe the best kiss he’s ever had.

Not that there are many to count of.  But still.

When they break apart, Grell’s eyes are closed, his cheeks flushed from kissing, and William feels something warm wriggle around in his chest. He panics.

“Will—” Grell breathes.

“I’ve got—paperwork—” Will chokes out, alarmed, and turns on his heel to his office where he doesn’t have to look at Grell’s expectant face.

* * *

Grell isn’t even William’s _type._   William likes men who are strong, mostly silent, hidden underneath a suit of some sort.  Unhappy men.  Men Will can identify with as well as want to fuck them.

Grell doesn’t hide, though, and Will finds himself unexpectedly jacking off to the image he has of Grell in bed—fearless, sexy, try-everything-twice and deliecious—and comes harder than he wants to but it’s not enough to get the images out of his head.

* * *

Grell doesn’t always show up to work on time, but this—two hours late and counting—this is unreasonable.  William, now Grell’s superior by a fraction, has been cutting him as much slack as he possibly can, but there’s only so much traffic one person can be caught in. 

William waits another hour before alerting the receptionist at the front desk that he’s going on break, so send all messages through to his office, thank you.

Grell doesn’t answer the door, when William rings the doorbell, which is worrisome all in itself.  Grell adores visitors, even if he’s playing hooky, and if he was playing hooky, wouldn’t he have sent a note alerting them to his no doubt ridiculous condition?  Wouldn’t he have the decency to keep William from worrying?

William decides that enough is enough and kicks in Grell’s apartment door, an inner voice in his head calmly stating that perhaps there is a more sinister reason for Grell’s absence.  What if he’s hurt?  _What if Will is too late?_

The sight he is met with stops his heart for a moment.  Grell is standing in front of a mirror, in a dress, and is carefully applying eyeliner to his already raccoon-ed eyes.  There are bits of red women’s accessories strewn about the room (most notably, perhaps, a set of lingerie that William doesn’t particularly want to contemplate).

“ _William?_ ” Grell gasps, one hand thrown up to shield his lipstick covered mouth.

“I—” William doesn’t know what to say, how to say it, so he shuts his mouth with an audible _snap_ and flees, with a muttered apology thrown over one shoulder as he vacates the premises as quickly as his feet can carry him.

* * *

Grell isn’t wearing red when he comes to back to work after the dress incident.  Will hates it; he doesn’t look like _Grell_ without the garish shades all over him like someone threw a hundred tomatoes at him and they stuck.

William has to take matters into his own hands, so he does, and calls Grell into his office for a quick word.

Grell is scared.  Will can see it in the way he holds his shoulders, in the tentative way he tucks a strand of hair behind his ear when he enters the room, trembling like a leaf in a summer storm.

He looks so _uncomfortable_ in his standard-issue black suit.

William heaves a sigh and gestures to the seat in front of his desk.  Grell takes it, eyes wide and beginning to mist.

“What pronoun would you prefer, Sutcliff?”  Will asks over his steepled fingers.

* * *

It isn’t like she’s wearing fishnets and heels every day.  But her forms are now assigned to a _Ms._ Grell Sutcliff, she stops cutting her hair, and she wears all the red lipstick she wants.  She’s _happy._   William is unexplainably proud, although he hides it behind his spectacles, of course.

“You’re awfully quiet today, dearie-o,” Grell remarks as they walk into work together.  She’s wearing a skirt today, and her hair is up in a bun suspended by red chopsticks.  _Of course she has bloody hair-chopsticks in her favorite color,_ William thinks sarcastically to himself.  _Of course._

“Just thinking.”  William sighs and holds the door open for her.  “And my name is _William_."

* * *

“William,” Grell groans, flinging herself into William’s office.  “Fuck, William!”

“What’s wrong with you now?”  William asks, resigned, signing his signature on a form.

“There’s a bitch downstairs—”

“Do you know how many times I’ve heard you begin a sentence that way?”  Will feels a need to point this out; Grell’s drama can be trying on one’s nerves.  And anyway, it isn’t as if the bitches are _news._

“William T. Spears, you will hear me out!” Grell thunders, and this is what makes William look up from his paperwork.  When Grell uses the middle initial, she means business.

“I’m listening,” he says, and is surprised to find Grell’s eyes filling with tears of aggravation.

“This _bitch_ —” Grell draws a deep, shuddering breath— “This _bitch_ stopped me from going into the ladies’ restroom, said the usual shit, and, fuck, William, I have to pee and I don’t know if I can brave the throng of bitches.”

William sees red.  He doesn’t know why it’s this occasion more than another, but he pushes past Grell and storms down the hallway.

“William…?”  Grell asks nervously, heels clicking against the tiles as she follows him.  “What are you doing, William?”

“I’m having words with a bitch,” he growls, and Grell gives him a sharp-toothed smile.

“That’s my knight in shining armor,” she coos, and Will is so preoccupied that he doesn’t bother to correct her.

* * *

“Would you like me better if I was a guy?”  Grell asks one day, trying to sound nonchalant, but Will can hear the anxiety in her voice.

“No,” Will answers.  “I’d hate you just as much if you were a man.”

Grell grins, apparently appeased.

“Thank you,” she says sincerely, and Will waves a hand impatiently.

“I only speak the truth.  Now go bother someone who _wants_ to get overtime because they’re distracted.”

* * *

William is attracted guys.  He is.  He really, really is. 

He’s also, ironically, attracted to Grell.

It’s confusing as fuck.

* * *

_“Mr. Spears?”_

William can recognize that smooth, disgusting voice in his sleep.

“What do you want, Michaelis?” Will asks in a very bored voice.  What is it this time?  Hellhounds on the loose?

 _“I seem to have collected… something… that belongs to you,”_ Sebastian's disdain practically oozes through the telephone.  Will pinches the bridge of his nose between his forefinger and thumb.

“Sutcliff?”

_“Naturally.”_

“On my way.  She better not have killed anyone this time.”

 _“She…?”_   Will can hear the surprise in Sebastian’s voice, but his mind is on work and he doesn’t give a damn about the assumptions of a demon butler.  In fact, it’s safe to say he’s run out of damns to give.

“Yes, she.  This troubles you more than that gender confused angel?”  Will doesn’t really get what makes Michaelis’s mind work, and he doesn’t care to, but honestly?  Sebastian has worse things to deal with than one transgender shinigami.

_“Not at all.  I suppose I’m just surprised you accept… her.”_

Will scowls.  Of course he accepts Grell, it’d be stupid not to.

“We’re on bad enough terms already, Michaelis.  There’s no need to make me hate you more.”

* * *

“I’m gay,” William tells Grell one evening.  They’re on Grell’s red (of course) couch, trading sips of something very alcoholic back and forth.   _The Princess Bride_ is playing in the background.

This is a thing they do, sometimes, after a trying day at work and the weekend looming up quick.  It’s something unspoken—somehow they just end up in one of their apartments together, and then they drink until they can’t see straight and have comfort movies playing on loop until they fall asleep with their heads lolled about like Grell’s goddamn plushies.

They don’t talk about it.  It just is.

“Oh,” Grell says.  It’s a defeated sort of sound.

“Also, I think I might be falling in love with you,” he confesses, and this is not something three hundred-year-old adult men say to someone, this is _teenage_ , this is _adolescent_ , this is _stupid_ , but then Grell twists herself into his lap, and fuck, Will can feel her erection press against his hip and it shouldn’t turn him on but that physical show that she is attracted to him is so very sexy—

“Will,” she breathes, and he runs his fingers through her crimson hair, feels her heartbeat against his chest, and he doesn’t hold himself back any more.  He could.  But he doesn’t.

* * *

He never meant to fall in love with her. 

William Spears doesn’t fall in love; the idea is ridiculous.  Besides all that, he’s _gay_ , and Grell is the most feminine person Will has ever met in his admittedly long life.  When asked, Grell tersely replies that she’s most definitely a woman who happens to have a very large penis that she is proud of.

Will tries really hard not to laugh at that one.

Perhaps it’s not the gender that matters—perhaps it’s not the parts.  Maybe the thing that draws Will to Grell is her psychotic, strange, frustrating, stubborn nature that is so completely different from his own.  Opposites attract, and all that romantic twaddle.

Fuck, he doesn’t even care, anymore.  He loves her, that is that. The end.

Grell snuggles closer under one of Will’s arms loosely looped around her waist, and Will stops pondering the nature of his existence long enough to press a quick kiss to the top of Grell’s head.  Shows of affection, apparently, are a necessary evil when dating one Grell Sutcliff, and perhaps… just perhaps…

Perhaps Will doesn’t mind all that much.


End file.
